


A Ghost From The Past

by EllanaSan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Book 3: Mockingjay, F/M, Thirteen - Freeform, no actual ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch was still frozen in shock, his eyes wide. The woman reached out as if to touch him and he abruptly stepped back and grabbed Effie’s wrist. <br/>“Is she real?” he whispered, tightening his hold on her to the point she winced. “Effie, do you see her?”<br/>Hayffie</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ghost From The Past

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there everyone! So I had this idea for a while. I hope you will like it. =)   
> I should say that while this follows a movie pattern of having Effie in 13, I don’t really subscribe to 13 as described in the movie so it’s more Effie in book!13 but that should be clear in the story itself ;)  
> I might do a second chapter for this with Haymitch’s pov but I’m not sure how soon it will come out so I’m marking this as complete.   
> Warning for smut.   
> I hope you enjoy it! Please do let me know!

It was chaos and Effie was doing her best not to be scared but it wasn’t really a success.

She trotted on her heels to remain next to Haymitch while he gave directions to the medical teams taking away the gurneys with Beetee, Finnick and Kaniss, unwilling to be left behind to fend for herself.

Thirteen didn’t look any more welcoming that she had expected it to be. The hovercraft had landed in an underground compound and already, she felt a need for fresh air, wind on her face and sun licking at her skin. The bright neon lights were harsh, the walls, cemented floor and ceiling were the same uniform grey as the people’s garbs. The men and women running around them in a tidy and efficient fashion were all closed-faces, scowls and as plain as could be. Effie felt sick and Haymitch wasn’t looking back to make sure she was following, he was walking next to Katniss’ gurney, explaining what he could to the doctor who was nodding his head. She grabbed the back of his shirt like a child just to be sure she wouldn’t lose him in the surrounding chaos.

Then new soldiers appeared, one of them introduced himself as Boggs and said Haymitch and Plutarch were needed in Command. He also said other soldiers would take her somewhere she could get more presentable and that irritated her. She _was_ presentable, they weren’t.

“I’m staying with Haymitch.” she declared petulantly, making sure her voice wouldn’t shake.

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Boggs replied. “But you’re a Capitol escort and I would advise against stirring trouble.”

Heads turned, people stared. The looks of curiosity people were throwing at her ever since she had stepped down of the hovercraft turned into contempt and hatred. She stepped closer to Haymitch.

“She’s staying with me until I had a chat with your President about her.” her victor retorted. “Plutarch assured me immunity for her.”

“She has political refugee status.” Boggs countered.

“That’s not immunity and that’s not acceptable.” Haymitch glared. “She’s the Mockingjay’s escort. Concessions have to be made.”

“I’m sure we will be able to talk the misunderstanding out with President Coin.” Plutarch cut in.

Boggs didn’t look pleased but he shrugged and they were all moving. If the hovercrafts compound was bad, the rest of the District was worse. The corridors weren’t spacious enough and made her feel even more claustrophobic. Every ten steps, their group had to stop to let somebody pass them by with a cleaning trolley.

They met several people along the way. Thirteen’s citizens seemed curious to see the newcomers and more than one of them gawked at her. She held her head high and kept her eyes straight ahead, not willing to give them the satisfaction of being embarrassed or ill-at-ease. The dress she was wearing was a creation from Portia, the wig was her token and the rest was fashion.

They had stepped out of the second elevator they had to take and were moving up some corridor again when she saw her. Unlike the other citizen, this woman didn’t look eager to see her or her attire. She kept her eyes only on Haymitch as they approached and she started nervously fumbling with the hem of her grey shirt way before they even reach her. She dismissed her as a fan. He had few of those but he certainly had some and, certainly, even in this remote place, they could watch Games...

She didn’t think anything of it when they passed her by and she whispered an almost disappointed “Haymitch.”.

Just a fan calling her favorite victor’s name. Nothing else.

Until Haymitch froze.

Effie could tell at the way he blinked suddenly that he hadn’t even been paying attention to his surroundings. He did that a lot, often automatically following in her footsteps while he pondered some other problems. His eyes fell on the woman and his breath audibly caught in his throat. His cheeks lost color and, for a second, she was scared he was going to faint. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

Boggs and Plutarch, who had been talking, only realized Haymitch and Effie had stopped walking a few feet ahead and stopped too to see what the interruption was about.

“Is anything the matter?” Plutarch called out.

He was thoroughly ignored.

“Haymitch.” the woman repeated, her grey eyes bright with unshed tears.

She wasn’t pretty, Effie decided, and not only because of the plain District look. Her features were sharp, her nose too thin and the full mouth and straight black hair weren’t completely compensating for that. Her eyes were a sparkling grey though and they were striking enough to help forget the burn scar visible on her neck. It was perhaps nasty but Effie’s first thought was _: didn’t they have scarves to hide that in this District?_

Haymitch was still frozen in shock, his eyes wide. The woman reached out as if to touch him and he abruptly stepped back and grabbed Effie’s wrist.

“Is she real?” he whispered, tightening his hold on her to the point she winced. “Effie, do you see her?”

“Of course I see her!” she snapped, trying to pry his fingers away. His hands were shaking but she couldn’t tell if it was because of the woman or if he was feeling the effects of withdrawal. They had been shaking for a while now, almost half the hovercraft ride.

“You can’t. She’s dead.” he spat. “She’s dead.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “Obviously not since she’s standing right here. And don’t talk about someone who is standing in front of you in third person, Haymitch. How many time will I have to remind you that it is very rude.” She didn’t manage to get free of his grip so she let it go and turned to the woman, ready to smooth any ruffled feathers like always. “I _do_ apologize for this. We had quite the adventure today but why don’t you leave your name to one of those soldiers and I will make sure a signed picture will be sent to you. Unfortunately, we do not have a lot of time for fans meeting right now. “

“Shut up, Effie.” Haymitch said. There was a characteristic growl in his voice that meant he was about to get very, _very_ angry – which was very unfair because she was just trying to do her job still.

The woman was watching her with open disgust and her grey eyes kept going from Haymitch’s face to the hand coiled around her wrist.

“Haymitch!” Plutarch insisted.

Again, he went ignored.

“Are you sure, she’s real?” he asked her, squeezing her wrist.

She opened her mouth to tell him _again_ that the woman was very much real but the District citizen was quicker.

“I’m real.” the woman said. “I’m real. Haymitch...”

Her voice broke in a sob and then, before anyone could do anything, she tossed her arms around Haymitch’s neck.

Effie felt his whole body tense and she looked around, searching for help. This was assault. Fans could be crazy sometimes. But Plutarch and Boggs didn’t seem in a hurry to come to their rescue, they were waiting patiently for Haymitch to be done.

It seemed to last forever.

At first Haymitch did nothing at all and the woman just hung from his neck and then, so painfully slow it was almost hesitant, he placed his free hand at the small of her back.

“Haymitch.” the woman said again, her face in his neck.

And just like that, he let go of Effie and the two of them were clutching at each other like two people trying not to drown.

“Mabel...” she heard him whisper almost in awe.

Plutarch tossed an inquisitive glance at Effie but she simply made a gesture of ignorance. The hug lasted for several minutes and only ended because the woman drew back and framed his face in her hands. For a terrible second, Effie thought she was going to kiss him.

“Mabel.” he murmured again. It almost sounded like a prayer and it made Effie very aggravated. She didn’t like strange women pawing at him. Perhaps they only had an arrangement, occasional sex that wasn’t so occasional anymore and no strings attached, but she still disliked it immensely when other people touched was she perceived as being hers. And Haymitch was very much _hers_.

“I missed you so much.” Mabel – since it was apparently her name – said.

“How?” he asked, brushing the black hair away from her face in a gesture so tender it hurt Effie. Gentleness, coming from him, was so rare... He had only looked at her the way he was looking at that woman a handful of times. The memory of each was _precious_ to her because she had felt _special_. Clearly, she hadn’t been _that_ special.

“I woke up and the house was on fire.” she explained, finally letting go of him to wipe the tears away from her cheeks. “My parents...” She shook her head. “I managed to get out. I sneaked away. I don’t know I was in shock, I think. I saw that your house was burning too and I... I was scared, Haymitch, I ran away to the woods and then... I never stopped walking. Eventually, I stumbled upon a patrol from Thirteen and they brought me here.”

Haymitch’s change in demeanor was subtle but Effie didn’t miss it.

“You were here all this time?” he frowned. “You were _so close_ all this time and you couldn’t let me know you were alive?”

And here was the anger, Effie thought with some satisfaction.

“I couldn’t go back.” Mabel shook her head. “Haymitch, I... I couldn’t.”

“Haymitch?” Plutarch cut in again, a little more firmly.

“Yeah.” He waved the Gamemaker away. “Yeah.” he repeated sternly. “I need to go.”

“You’re going to Command, right?” Mabel said. “I will wait nearby. When you’re done... We need to talk, Haymitch, we really do. I have so many things to tell you.”

“I bet you do.” he spat.

He stormed away, leaving Effie to smile awkwardly at the woman and mutter an excuse about his poor behavior before hurrying after him.

“Who is she?” she asked, curious, once they had all started heading to Command again.

Haymitch didn’t answer at once. It was obvious he was in a foul mood.

“My girl.” he scowled eventually.

It was Effie’s turn to freeze. She remained stunned long enough that she had to almost run to catch up with the group. Her heart was racing with the implications of that new development.

“But she’s dead!” she exclaimed.

“Obviously not so much.” he snorted bitterly.

Effie remained silent. She was well used to his dead girlfriend being placed on a pedestal. In his guilt, he had made her a saint. She had accepted years ago that she was competing with a ghost for his affection and that it was a losing fight. Except now the ghost was flesh and bones and the fight, she feared, was already lost.

“I hate this place.” she muttered under her breath as they reached a huge briefing room with see-through doors.

It soon appeared clear the place hated her right back. President Coin was a cold woman who badly needed a hair job and whose stare made Effie’s skin crawl. The debate over her fate was short and to the point : refugee status would guarantee her protection and safety in Thirteen, as long as she followed the rules she would be treated as any other citizen, and if she helped the war effort they would discuss immunity from her past crimes at a later date.

She was then ordered away from the room while they briefed Haymitch and Plutarch on what had been going on in the Districts and what could be done for Twelve. Haymitch didn’t even glance at her when she followed one of the soldier out to be “debriefed” as the President had put it.

_Debriefing_ was nothing more than an euphemism for _interrogated_. They left her standing in front of a desk in a huge room in which her voice echoed. The soldier who was comfortably sitting behind the desk didn’t look in a hurry and rudely dismissed her discomfort even though she pointed out several time that his behavior was awful. She remained standing on her high heels for what felt like hours, dodging questions she didn’t know the answers to. He kept asking the same things and she kept saying she didn’t know – seriously, why would they expect her to know about the Presidential Mansion’s security systems? – but it wasn’t as bad as the questions she actually _could_ answer : how many children had she reaped in all? Did she feel guilty? Why did she do it? Why had she remained in her position as an escort once she had realized it was wrong?

By the end of the debriefing, her feet and her legs hurt, her head was spinning and she had a headache. She didn’t even complain when they stripped her of her jewels and requested she gave up her wigs, clothes and shoes. They left her alone so she could change in the District mandatory uniform and she almost cried in distress when she saw the plain jumpsuit. It was obviously second-hand there were some bleach stains on the knee. She bit on her bottom lips and lifted her head up. _Eyes bright, chin up, smile on,_ she repeated to herself. That went out the window when they tore her fake nails away from her hands. They weren’t delicate and she whimpered in pain several times, she offered to do it herself but her pleas fell in deaf ears.

After that, they escorted her to her assigned compartment. She felt like an inmate in a prison. She walked behind her soldier guide, clutching to her chest the welcoming pack with the rules, the spare clothes and the first necessity items, feeling self-conscious because of her bare face and her plain blond hair loose on her shoulders.

The last blow was knowing she would get assigned a roommate as soon as the expected Twelve’s refugees would arrive. Sharing a room as small as the compartment they had given her wasn’t appealing, sharing it with someone who would see her as the escort monster was even worse.

When the soldier left, closing the sliding door behind her, she had the distinct sensation of being locked in a cell. It certainly looked like it. There was a small living-area with a table and two chairs with a window that gave on the corridor. The first thing she did was close the curtains so she could, at least, have the illusion of privacy. There was a bathroom that could barely be called a bathroom. The shower had no partitions or curtains only a little white square on the floor and a pipe overhead and she was sure there would be water everywhere. The room was so small, the shower was almost touching the toilets that was itself jammed between the shower and the sink. There was a mirror over it, at least, but she didn’t dare look at her reflection. She studied the odd contraption next to the shower and soon realized when she skimmed through the rules book that they were only a allowed ten minutes of hot water every day and that they could access it by scanning their wrist. The bedroom wasn’t much better. Two bunk beds with storage units under each one and no ladder to actually access the beds which promised a lot of exhausting attempts at hauling herself up there every night because she wasn’t exactly an athlete champion.

The water coming from the tap in the sink was, at least, free. Freezing, yes, but free. She left her hands to soak, trying to numb the feeling in her nails and bit on her bottom lip until the urge to cry passed. Peeta was gone. She couldn’t cry over herself when Peeta was gone. Katniss would need her help and Finnick too. She did love Finnick like an annoying little brother. She loved Johanna less but she didn’t wish her ill either and the thought that she had been captured...

She was hitching to go out and find out how Katniss was doing but she was scared of leaving her compartment. She would get lost, she already knew, despite the map provided in the rules book. She finally dared look at her reflection and she almost cringed. The thought of being seen looking like this...

The thought of customizing her uniform crossed her mind – she was gifted with an acute sense of fashion after all and she was certain she couldn’t make it worse since there was only room for improvement – but she was too afraid to dare attempt it. They had torn her nails away from her, they had taken _everything_. What would they do if she disrespected their rules? Defiance wasn’t something she was good at. Not when it was open anyway.

She had difficulties getting her bearings. She didn’t know how long her debriefing had lasted or how long had passed since they had arrived in Thirteen. There was a clock on one wall, the red numbers that were meant to be visible at all time, even in the dark, read three : twenty-two but she couldn’t say if it was night or day. She was exhausted but not ready to sleep. She sank on one of the chairs and wondered why she had even agreed to follow Haymitch in the first place.

_The_ _children_.

Of course, that was why. The children.

The clock was reading five : forty-six when the door slid open without a custom knock and she startled, scrambling up from her seat at the table. She only relaxed once she saw Haymitch, dressed in one of those awful uniforms too. He closed the door, turned the lock she hadn’t noticed, and then he was on her.

She answered to his heated kisses with some kind of desperation. She was lost, scared, cold and her nails were still stinging but he was warm, familiar and reassuring.

“What are the news?” she asked, as he drew back long enough to fumble with the buttons of her jumpsuit.

“Some people escaped from Twelve. They sent a patrol but they won’t reach them before tomorrow. They can’t send a hovercraft yet. Capitols are still flying over the District.” he mumbled with obvious frustration when his shaking fingers couldn’t even get one button undone. She wordlessly started doing it for him and he pressed his mouth against her throat, sucking and nibbling at the skin, his unsteady hands cupping a feel over her clothes where he could. “Katniss’ still out. We’ll keep her that way until her family’s here – _if_ they made it. No news on the captured victors. And they’re going to shove me in a drunk tank so I can dry out as soon as I walk out of this room.”

That last piece of information made her pause.

“Cold turkey?” she frowned.

“Yeah.” he nodded. His voice was flat but she could detect the fear in it all the same. “You look...”

“Ugly. Let’s not dwell on that.” she cut him off.

He pushed the jumpsuit over her shoulders and tugged it down, all the while grumbling about pants and how he would never make fun of her dresses again. She kissed him, trying to get rid of the tension in his shoulders but he didn’t relax, not even when he slid his hands under her tank top, pushing it up with her bra to get access to her breasts but not bothering to take them off.

“Did you see your friend again?” she asked, between two kisses. She was careful to sound indifferent but, suddenly, he spun her around and she barely had time to steady herself on the little table to not trip over the jumpsuit binding her ankles together. She glanced over her shoulder but his face was stern, _angry_.

“Guess what, sweetheart?” he chuckled so bitterly she wanted to reach out and comfort him but she refrained, knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated. He fumbled with his belt for a few seconds and then pushed his pants down and she looked back at the table because she was nowhere near ready enough and he was too preoccupied to care about foreplay. She didn’t mind it rough though so she kept her tongue. “I’ve been grieving for her for twenty-five years and can you guess what she was doing all this time?”

He nudged her legs as far apart as they would go with the jumpsuit still around her ankles and she flattened her chest against the table that clearly wasn’t designed for such activities, hoping it would hold their weight. He entered her in two thrusts and she breathed through the initial discomfort. He paused long enough to let her adjust, long attuned to her body’s needs, and then he started moving and pleasure started to build. The thrusts were brutal and he coiled a hand around her neck – to keep her in place or out of a need to dominate, it was anyone’s guess. His other hand was on her hip, grounding her in place.

“She got married.” he scowled with another deep thrust that tore a moan from her throat. It seemed to drive him mad because he quickened the pace even more, to the point she started pushing back, too far gone to even care about the way her hips were jamming against the edge of the table and the bruises it would leave. “She waited three years and then she met a guy and, _hey, Haymitch, what did you want me to do?_ ” he sneered. “She’s married, she has three kids and I spent twenty-five years grieving for her, telling myself it was my fault if she had died.” A last thrust brought her over the edge and she cried out in bliss, unable to swallow it back. “She was in Thirteen all this _fucking_ time. I get she couldn’t go back to Twelve, I get we could never have been together but, she _could_ have let me know she was alive. Or is that too much to ask? She got to...”

His climax seemed to take him by surprise because it cut him off mid-sentence and he groaned as he came, briefly resting his whole weight on her back as he recovered. She felt his breath roll over her shoulder blade.

“She lived her whole life.” he whispered. “And I wasted mine because I thought it was my fault if she was dead.” He snorted. “Saddest part? I promised myself I would never love anyone else and she had stopped loving me two decades ago.”

“Well, she’s an idiot then.” Effie replied. “And you deserve better.”

He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades and relieved her of his weight.

“Don’t deserve anything.” he mumbled. “Still killed enough other people. But it would have been nice to know she wasn’t one of them.”

She heard him fix his clothes and she slowly straightened up before turning around, intending to get dressed too. He winced and reached for her hips, coiling his shaking hands on her hip bones and rubbing his thumbs against the red marks on her stomach. “ _Fuck_. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s alright.” she dismissed it, wrapping her fingers around his wrists and tugging him closer so she could kiss him properly. She had more urgent worries than his girl and – bless every divinity above – her husband and children. “They will monitor you, yes? Do they have competent doctors in this place? You’ve been dependent for so long... I don’t like the idea of you cutting off from alcohol so abruptly.”

“You and me both.” he sighed against her neck. “You will visit, yeah? Look, I told them I was giving you power of attorney. If anything happens to me... Don’t let them hook me up to things, okay? Just let me die. And take care of the kids. You’re the only one I completely trust in this place.”

That was a _huge_ thing.

“Hay... Haymitch...” she stuttered, not sure how to react exactly.

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart.” he mocked. “With my luck, I will survive for months of sobriety.”

There was real anguish there and she cupped his cheek, relishing in the feel of his stubble, before kissing him again. She wished it didn’t feel so much like a goodbye. “I will visit and I will force them to take care of you.”

“The doctors are a bunch of pricks, be your best bitchy self.” he demanded.

It was a request she was only too happy to grant. She didn’t have to force herself very much to act like a bitch in that place.

Her days soon fell into a routine she didn’t need the schedule on her wrist for.

When she wasn’t working as an assistant to Plutarch, she visited Haymitch in the hospital. It was obvious Thirteen wasn’t used to withdrawals and the care he got was second-hand at best. Every day she was forced to make a scene about something or other and every day she was brushed off as the spoiled brat that all Capitols no doubt were considered to be. Still, she sat next to his bed and held his hand through the worst of it, hallucinations and nightmares alike.

Sometimes his delirium was frightening and she was almost glad for the restrains strapping him to the bed. Other times he simply looked so sad and broken she wanted to weep. She was scared he wouldn’t survive this. She was scared of losing him.

He was the only person she cared for in this place aside for Katniss and her sister who was such a sweet child Effie couldn’t help but love her. She hated the way Plutarch ordered her around, treating her like a secretary or an assistant. She hated the way Coin and the rest of the people looked at her. She hated having to walk around with her plain blond hair on display, clad in clothes that didn’t fit. She hated the fact that she was breathing recycled air and hadn’t felt the sun on her face in days.

Plutarch pulled some strings and instead of assigning her a District roommate, they sent another Capitol refugee to her compartment. Cressida was a nice young woman but not someone Effie would ever be friend with. Still, she was polite enough and she was from the Capitol which was enough to establish some sort of kinship. They might not be friends but Effie wasn’t scared of being murdered during the night which wouldn’t have been a given with a District woman.

She soon discovered she wasn’t Haymitch’s sole visitor. There was a log sheet next to the door and there were three other names on it. Plutarch came and went regularly as well as a H. Hawthorne that Effie soon found out to be his housekeeper. The two women crossed paths often enough, Effie coming in the hospital after her day work right when Hazelle left from her visit. She was wary at first but after a few days of awkward brushing past each other, they started talking. Effie wouldn’t have said they were friends, but they were on cordial enough terms and she was so isolated in that District that she would have taken anything. As insufferable as he always was, Haymitch was her only friend in Thirteen and she missed him dearly.

She supposed the third visitor to be someone else from his District and thus didn’t pay it any mind until she came into his hospital room one day, on her lunch break, already ranting about Coin’s latest stupid comment. She froze then because of the woman sitting on Haymitch’s bed in a very familiar way that Hazelle never allowed herself.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked with a frown.

_M. Dawlish_ , the log sheet had spelled enough times. _M_ for _Mabel_.

“I could ask you the same.” the woman scowled back.

Haymitch was obviously not in one of his good days. His eyes were glassy and even though he was holding to Mabel’s hand tightly, he didn’t look very lucid.

“I don’t think he would want you here if he was in his right mind.” she pointed out, folding her arms over her chest.

“I think I have more reasons to be here than a Capitol murderer.” the woman spat.

Effie could see her point. _Really_ , she could. The Capitol had destroyed her life. It had reaped her boyfriend, had killed her parents and had thrust her into adulthood when she was sixteen. She could also understand what Haymitch couldn’t forgive. Of course, Mabel had made a life for herself in Thirteen. What was the alternative? Burying herself alive like he had done and drinking her grief away? She had been sixteen and not in any danger from the Capitol anymore... It was only natural that she had eventually built a life for herself, had fallen in love again and had started a family. Effie could understand it all and if Mabel had been anyone else, she would probably have tried to get Haymitch to see her side of the argument. But Mabel was Haymitch’s greatest love and she felt threatened.

“Don’t you have a husband and children to take care of?” she hissed.

“Why?” Mabel sneered. “You’re planning on killing them too?”

“Effie...” Haymitch mumbled, his eyes finally resting on her.

“Well, I think this settles that.” she triumphed.

Mabel scoffed but gave in, pressing a long kiss on Haymitch’s forehead before brushing his hair away from his face.

“Don’t kid yourself into thinking he loves you.” the woman spat before leaving his side. “I know Haymitch as well as I know myself. You were convenient and that’s it. He deserves better and deep down he knows it.”

“By better you mean _you_?” Effie retorted, jutting her chin in the air and looking down at the other woman with disdain. “Because let me tell you right now, he deserves better than _you_. _I_ have many faults but I _never_ deserted him.”

“You’re nothing but a Capitol slut and I will make sure he finds better than you.” Mabel insisted.

“Effie…” Haymitch begged, outstretching a hand in her direction.

She took the place recently vacated on the bed, annoyed to find the sheets warm under her thighs. She grabbed his hand and forced herself not to glance at the retreating back of the woman. It was only when she was certain the District woman was gone that she forced a smile on her lips.

“How are you feeling today, Haymitch?” she asked cheerfully. “I spoke to your doctor, he seems to think the worst of it is over…”

His eyes weren’t exactly focused but he seemed lucid enough when he squeezed her hand. “Don’t let her come back.”

That was a request she was only too happy to grant. She made sure to have a conversation with the nurses before leaving.

She managed to avoid causing a scene for two days but she wasn’t expecting Mabel to go down easily and thus she wasn’t entirely surprised to be pushed against the wall as she was about to open her compartment door. Her shoulder hit the concrete first and she screamed but it was more out of fright than pain.

“Who do you think you _fucking_ are?” Mabel growled just as her compartment door slid open and Cressida stepped out, wearing nothing else than a tank top and sweatpants, clearly ready for bed.

“What’s going on?” the director asked. “Effie, are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine.” she gritted through her teeth, unwilling to admit weakness in front of that woman. “And to answer your question, Mrs Dawlish, I have been Haymitch’s escort for thirteen years, I am _his friend,_ and I will thank you to stay away from me in the future.”

“You’re his escort, you’re not the boss of him.” Mabel snapped. “You can’t _forbid_ me from visiting him. He’s a man not your dog. You don’t _own_ him.”

Cressida shuffled on her feet, clearly ill-at-ease, but Effie didn’t pay it any attention.

“He doesn’t want you to visit him.” she retorted.

“ _Bullshit_.” Mabel scoffed.

“ _Language_.” she rebuked instinctively.

“You have _no rights_ to stop me from visiting him.” the woman insisted.

“I have the rights he gave me.” she hissed. “He trusted me to look after him when he couldn’t do it properly for himself and I am following his will.” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want from him anyway? You are married, Mrs Dawlish. You have _children_. If you _think_ you can just waltz in and steal him back…”

Effie’s voice trailed off because she wondered what would happen if those _were_ Mabel’s intentions. Haymitch loved her, would _always_ loved her, that was something she had known from very early on. He still had the ribbon she had given him as a token. The pink had faded with the years and it was frayed and dirty but it was always in his pocket and more than once she had caught him toying with it late at night while drinking. Haymitch loved her, would _always_ loved her and Effie had always been second best. Second best to a ghost was one thing but now the ghost was flesh and…

She would fight. She would fight that woman because she was Effie Trinket and she had never surrendered easily to anything in her life. She would fight and she would lose and her heart would get broken.

“ _Steal_ _him back ?_  Is that all you care about?” Mabel sneered. “That _maybe_ I will steal your _toy_? I don’t love Haymitch like that anymore but I _do_ love him. He is my friend, my best friend, and he deserves to be happy. If you cared about him at all you would see that.”

“He isn’t _unhappy_ with me.” Effie snapped.

“But he isn’t _happy_ either.” the woman retorted. “How could he be? You’re a _Capitol_. He will _never_ love you and he deserves to love and be loved. He deserves a real life.”

Her voice was laced with guilt and Effie thought they were perhaps reaching the real problem. Mabel felt guilty about what Haymitch had become.

A part of Effie was thinking she should.

Another part saw the bigger picture and the unfavorable odds the woman had had to deal with.

“Haymitch is old enough to make his own choices.” Effie replied more calmly.

“As long as you know he will _never_ choose you.” Mabel spat before storming away.

Cressida cleared her throat and stepped aside so Effie could come in. “That was intense.”

“She’s hurting.” Effie sighed, forcing herself to get _detached._ “I don’t think she means ill.”

Meaning ill or not, she _poisoned_ them.

Once Katniss accepted the role of the Mockingjay and Haymitch was finally allowed out of his cell, he tossed himself into the rebellion with all he had. Hours of rest were few and far in between and if Effie hadn’t insisted for him to take a moment to eat and sleep, she had no doubt he would have spent his days holed up in Command – a place she was only rarely allowed in when Katniss wasn’t concerned.

Mabel was never mentioned but the woman was insistent about rekindling their friendship. She cornered him more than once in the dinner hall, introduced him to her husband and children… The children were a knife in the heart for Haymitch because they could have easily have been theirs. Effie knew because he gave up his tray of food, grabbed her arm and dragged her to the nearest storage room.

He was using her as a substitute for alcohol.

Haymitch’s behavior was predictable : when he was upset, he drank; when he was angry, he drank; when he was brooding too much about the past, he drank. Now, he couldn’t get his hands on alcohol so he had sex with her. Anywhere they could get away with, every time something he couldn’t quite handle without his familiar clutch happened. It wasn’t as tricky as she had feared it would be to find time together: Cressida was always in their room but Haymitch was sharing with Beetee and Beetee spent most of his time working in Special Defense. More than once, Effie spent the night in Haymitch’s compartment.

They weren’t used to sharing a bed or to cuddling after sex and Effie would have loved to see it as a victory but she wasn’t blind and she wasn’t as talented at lying to herself as she had been in the past. There was a pattern. When Mabel talked to him, aggravated him or just happened to find herself on his path, he would go to Effie.

Somehow, it stung.

The sex was the worst. She hadn’t noticed at once, had thought nothing about it at first, but now… Now it was like a slap in her face every time he started something.

She was waiting.

They were in his room, Beetee wasn’t supposed to come back and the door was locked anyway – they had one near miss with Katniss already because the girl didn’t seem to understand the concept of _knocking_ and came and went in Haymitch’s compartment like she pleased – and Haymitch was annoyed about something Graesy Sae had said to him. Effie didn’t know the old woman very well, she had been introduced by Katniss’ mother during a shared lunch in the dinner hall. Sae had looked at her up and down, had snorted and told her that for a Capitol she was skinny. Other than that there hadn’t been any sign of hostility – which was understandably not a given with District refugees – even though she knew Graesy Sae had been happy to find out Mabel was alive.

She pondered that as she stared at the ceiling, lying on his bed, Haymitch’s lips trailing down her throat. The beard was unpleasant. She could live with stubble but not that dead porcupine covering half his face. He didn’t trust his hands with a razor and insisted there was no time to lose with her shaving him. She mused that they might as well lost the time shaving rather than doing _this_.

He tugged at her clothes with shaky fingers and she wordlessly unbuttoned the shirt, slipped the undershirt over her head and unclasped her bra, before lying back down.

“You’re okay?” he frowned, brushing his fingers along her stomach and chest, keeping the touch light enough that coupled with the cold it left goosebumps in their wake.

“Of course.” she answered with a confident smile.

“Sure?” he insisted, his frown depending. “You’re not into it.”

“I am fine.” she snapped, tugging at his clothes. If he wanted initiative, she could give it to him. Sex was all they had, all they _shared_. Mabel was right, naturally, Effie had _always_ known it. She was convenient to Haymitch, even now, an easy mean to an end. They had an agreement, not a relationship. She didn’t mean more than what lied between her legs.

He was tentative for a moment, apparently uncertain if he should stop this now or go on. He stopped thinking when she sunk her teeth in his shoulder, harder than necessary. They were back to their usual dance, rough, _wild_. His calloused hands were lingering in all the places she liked best; her body responded to his touch and yet she felt cold.

He was hard and ready, his hands settled on her hips but she resisted the nudge, pretended not to get the hint…

“Turn around.” he whispered in her ear.

Her heart sunk in her chest. For a second, she thought about pushing him away and leaving before she lost her cool. It had been the same since they had arrived in Thirteen. Against a table, against the wall, in the shower, even in bed… Every time he would ask her to turn around. It was as if he couldn’t bear to look at her while he took her.

She rolled on her stomach if only to avoid an argument. He had clearly expected her to get on her knees but she wasn’t in the mood to humor him _that_ far. He could work with what she gave him.

“You’re sure, you’re good?” he asked, dropping kissing on her shoulder blades. “If you…”

“Yes. I am good.” she answered, forcing enough cheer to her voice that he wouldn’t insist. She didn’t want to have that conversation. That conversation would mark an end to whatever they were and she wasn’t ready for that. “I fancy being lazy tonight.”

“I can see that.” he snorted, adding a playful swat on her ass.

She let him do as he pleased, lifting her hips when he placed a pillow under her stomach, and following his lead when he spread her legs. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, it would have been better on her knees but she didn’t care. She sneaked her arms under the other pillow and buried her face in it so he wouldn’t see her.

That was what he wanted anyway, she figured. A faceless body to fuck. She didn’t need to wonder for long to guess who he was imagining while he was staring at her spine.

He brushed her hair aside and dropped more kisses on her back before entering her carefully. The thrusts were slow and not deep enough, his whole weight was on her. She was barely responsive and she could feel his frustration growing before long.

She thought about faking. That would have been a first with him but she had certainly done it plenty of times with others. She didn’t because, somehow, she was certain he would have known and wouldn’t have appreciated it. She didn’t have time anyway, his weight lifted from her back, he kneeled between her legs and grabbed her hips, imposing them a rhythm she could do nothing but follow. She slid a little down the bed but she kept her face in the pillow, dragging it with her. Pleasure built up in her belly but it remained distant until he reached around and she felt his fingers stroking her, not as deft as they used to be because of the tremors. He knew her body though, knew how to play her.

She didn’t think she could come that night and yet her orgasm hit her by surprise, tearing a cry out of her throat. She hadn’t been ready for it which was why it morphed into a sob halfway through. It was followed by another and another and soon, all she could do was biting the pillow and trying to swallow back the stupid tears that wouldn’t stop.

“Effie?” he called, clearly worried. “Effie, I can’t…”

A few more thrusts and he was coming. His pleasure was brief. As soon as he was spent, he slid out of her and nudged her on her back. She would have resisted but her climax had made her limbs weak and she had no choice but to look at him, cheeks stained with tears.

His grey eyes were panicked as he propped himself on an elbow to cup her cheek with his free hand. He wiped the tears away with his thumb. “ _Fuck_ , did I hurt you? _Talk_ to me, sweetheart. What…”

She turned her head away, ashamed with herself for this burst of emotions. Ladies didn’t lose their composure like that and that was all she had left now anyway : her dignity.

“I apologize. I am fine, just tired.” she whispered.

“ _Bullshit_.” he called out with a huff. His voice was irritated but he was gentle when he gripped her chin and nudged her head back in his direction. “You’ve been odd for days. What’s wrong?” Regret flashed in his eyes. “Shouldn’t have insisted tonight. You didn’t want to.”

“I want you.” she confessed. So much for her dignity, she supposed. Haymitch had a tendency to blame himself over the smallest things and she didn’t want him to think he had forced her into anything she didn’t want. He had asked twice if she was sure, she had had enough opportunities to back out. “I _always_ want you. It’s you who don’t want _me_.”

He frowned, his face completely puzzled. “What are you on about now?”

She pushed on his chest and he obliged by lying down next to her, clearly expecting her to settle down against his side for the night. She sat up instead, her legs dangling from the bed and she grabbed the edge of the mattress, readying herself for the small jump – she hated those beds. Those seconds of convincing herself she wouldn’t break anything were her downfall because he sneaked an arm around her waist, holding tight, pressing his chest to her back.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s late. Sleep with me.”

“I don’t… We are not doing _this_ anymore.” she answered, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“What? You’re not making any sense tonight, Effie.” He pulled her back and lied her back down and she let herself be manipulated like a ragdoll. He peered down at her. She tried to school her features into the bubbly and dumb escort but a simple brush of his fingertips on her cheekbone was enough for the mask to shatter. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart. What do you mean I don’t want you? I think I just proved I wanted you _very_ much.” He dropped a lingering kiss on her shoulder. “What are you crying about?”

She licked her lips and met his eyes. She loved his eyes. They were the very first things she had noticed when they had met. It was the only shade of grey she could ever love.

“I am losing sight of what this is.” she explained flatly. “I _lost_ sight a long time ago, I fear. I can’t… I can’t go on like this so… We can keep having sex but you can’t hold me afterward, you can’t kiss me like it means something more, and we can’t spend the night together.” The words were hard to utter but she knew it was for the best. “And I think… I think you should talk to her.” Her voice broke on that last word but she cleared her throat and went on because if she and Mabel agreed on anything it was that Haymitch deserved to be happy and if that _happy_ wasn’t _her_ , well… Effie was selfish but she loved him too much to be selfish about that. “I can be your fantasy when we have sex but not… Not for the rest, it will destroy me.”

“What _the fuck_ are you talking about?” he spat. “You’re no fantasy. If anything you’re a pain in my ass.”

“Haymitch, I am thirty-five.” she snapped. “I am not Katniss, I have long outgrown impossible love triangles.”

Understanding dawned on his face but his features quickly twisted in irritation. “Is this about Mabel?”

And there she was at last, the ghost in their bed.

“There are three of us in this thing.” she said. “That’s one too many.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I understand, I _do_. You have unfinished business with her and…”

“I don’t care about her.” he cut her off. “ Well, no, that’s not completely true but…” He stopped, took a deep breath and let it out, ill-at-ease. “I loved her, yeah. That was a long time ago. She’s not the girl I loved anymore. She changed. I’m not interested and she’s not even free now, what’s the point of being jealous of her? You’re smarter than that, Effie.”

“How am I supposed to believe this when you want to have sex every time you speak to her.” she scowled. “How am I supposed to believe this when you can’t even look at me when we’re having sex? You want me from behind so you can better think about her.” The words were dripping resentment, anger and venom but now that she was spitting them out she couldn’t stop. “So you can better imagine yourself _with_ _her_. I dare you to say it isn’t true! _I dare you_!”

He looked utterly stunned. “Okay. How long have you been mulling that over, sweetheart?”

“Long enough.” she chuckled bitterly. “We slipped. Our arrangement was neater before and I think…”

“’Cause we don’t have _an_ _arrangement_ anymore.” he interrupted. “This isn’t just about sex.” He was clearly annoyed at having to spell that out and he sat back against the wall. “You’re going to catch a cold.” he grumbled, tugging the sheets and blankets on her naked body. She accepted it because she was freezing but she couldn’t help but stare at him even as she brought the sheets to her chin. He rubbed his face and drew out a long sigh. “I want to have sex with you when I speak with her because when she’s not talking _shit_ about you, she’s trying to hook me up with one of her friends. She feels guilty about what happened to me, _us_. She wants me to find someone so we’re sort of even and she hates the Capitol even more than Jo does, she doesn’t get what I see in you. She has her reasons, I won’t dispute her the right but it’s my life and I do what I want with it.”

“But you don’t want to look at me when…” she started to argue.

“You come quicker from behind when we’re really rough.” he cut her off with a shrug. “And I’m not in the best mood which means we’re rough every time and I wanted you to enjoy it anyway. I didn’t know you minded.”

“I don’t.” she whispered. “I just… I thought you were…”

“You should have said something.” he accused. “I’m _shit_ at this and you know it.”

_This_ being _feelings_ , she supposed, or _relationship_ or whatever the term. It left her slightly dizzy.

“I was scared if I said anything I would lose you for good.” she confessed. “You have loved her for… I _know_ what she means to you. I’ve known for years I would only ever be her replacement _if even that_ and now…”

“You’re no one’s replacement.” he scoffed. “You’re _you_. You’re annoying and impossible and I am angry with you almost all the time but then _what_? At the end of the day I trust you completely. I don’t trust that many people and not to that extent. I _want_ you. I…” He faltered but she didn’t need him to finish. She surged forward, letting the sheets and blankets pool in her lap, coiled her hands around his neck and pulled him in a kiss that left her so out of breath she saw stars. Then she kissed him again and again. She was violent and relentless in her attacks. He chuckled in her mouth but lost his balance and they ended up in a heap on the bed. He slowed the kiss down until it morphed from messy to lazy. “We’re not three in this thing.” he insisted against her lips. “There’s you and me only.”

“I like the sound of that.” she grinned, pulling him closer, trapping him between her legs. “ _You and me._ ”

He tossed the blankets over them both and she had no objections to that because Thirteen was always cold and those compartments felt like fridges.

“Who would have thought…” he mocked. “Effie Trinket begging for missionary. You’re the one who complained I wasn’t creative enough.”

“Classics have their merits sometimes.” she argued. “And I didn’t say that, I said other positions than the missionary existed and it was _ages_ ago.”

“Too bad I’m old, sweetheart.” he snorted. “I wouldn’t mind reviewing the classics.” He dropped a trail of hot kisses down her throat. He peppered her chest with them and continued on his way down, diving under the covers.

“What are you doing?” she panted. He was making hot and bothered and…

He peered out of the covers long enough to flash her a smug smirk. “You didn’t have much fun, that’s not very well behaved of me. I’m told I should be more of a gentleman…”

She had nothing against him being more of a gentleman.

He worshipped her body that night, clearly making up for the weeks of anguish, and the afterglow lasted so long she didn’t even mind Mable making a beeline for him at breakfast the next day, one of her friends in tow. The friend was blond, all blue eyes and thin and Mabel wasn’t even trying to be subtle.

Haymitch was polite – barely – and Effie flashed an apologetic smile when he dragged her away to get in line for their food. She looped her arm around his like she had done a thousand times before and discreetly leaned against him. He shot her a mildly annoyed look but tolerated it.

“It is terribly shallow of me but I love that you are mine.” she purred.

His eyes softened. “Should never have doubted, sweetheart.”

If people were puzzled by the maniac grin she sported all day, well… She didn’t think it was any of their business.

There was too little happiness to be found in that place.

She would cling to hers.


End file.
